


To save a life I didn't have

by Reallyquitesoft



Category: Original Work, The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fuck blue lives, Gen, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 09:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reallyquitesoft/pseuds/Reallyquitesoft
Summary: Set after episode 28, when the FBI go close off the gate. Title is from Hozier's "in the woods somewhere"There is a sylph in the forest.Newcomers to earth are warned about her: don't creep around the lodge at night, leave any unidentified feathers alone-but anyone who could warn the FBI has long fled the lodge, with little inclination to share besides.There is a sylph in the forest.She is dangerous, and quiet, and does not shy away from a few casualties.There is a sylph in the forest-And she's pissed as hell, babes.





	To save a life I didn't have

**Author's Note:**

> Wahoo!  
> I don't know how you'd get here but if you're not familiar with fellow keplerians, Cordelia is an oc of mine. She's a cockatrice, and this is basically how I interpreted her side of that whole shit show.

There are people in the forest.

(A crack. Shouting. Sirens. Hurried footsteps, a speeding car-)

The men came later. They all looked the same, acted the same, sounded the same. All gruff voices, haughty disregard. Bright, sharp lights pushing ugly past leaves and branches. 

Cordelia hated them immediately, even before she knew what they were there for.

\---

This wasn’t her forest; but only because you can’t own something like that. It belongs to the bugs and the earth and the roots and the creeks that will keep gurgling long after she is gone. 

It isn’t Cordelia’s forest; not by a long shot, but she’s claimed it, cared for it for over a year. She knew the land and its inhabitants, and the hikers who ventured inside, keen on the bark older than themselves and the birds so much freer.

These men were not like that. These men had purpose, and nothing else. 

No respect, no kindness, only too-bright lights and guns and shouts. They stormed past Cordelia’s cave (she is well hidden, thank you), but they had hardly the same courtesy for the others. They stepped on anthills and spiderwebs and cut down any branches in their way. 

No, these were brutal and ugly and inconsequential (Cordelia knew because she hadn’t seen her... "acquaintances" since the men came, and very little was still important compared to those few who had found her). And Cordelia was going to do something about it.

The problem was, then, that she was afraid. These men were weak compared to Cordelia, but they were strong in numbers and potentially dangerous to their fellow humans. Even if they couldn’t kill her, there are worse things than death. 

That’s the problem with interaction, Cordelia had discovered: you get attached. You get attached, and worry, and there is no one but the bugs and the weasels with to soothe your fear. 

Then the bugs are dead and trampled. The weasels are afraid to come out of their den; one has been injured already. There is no one. There is no one, and Cordelia is afraid of these men and what they might’ve done to her acquaintances. 

She has long put out the fire that burns at the mouth of her cave, gathered the coals and hid them somewhere safe, buried the tell-tale sticks and ash, covered the scorch marks with dirt and leaves. The blankets are also hidden, and suddenly Cordelia regrets stealing so many (even though mama definitely deserved it). While the muted reds and oranges aren’t as bad as they could be, they still don’t exactly blend in. 

She managed regardless, storing them away with her rocks and other assorted stolen items. 

The one trinket Cordelia didn’t leave behind was the necklace Carrah had given her, all those months ago. She knew it was stupid, that if things went wrong it would be taken from her. And yet.. there are some things even a horrific snake-chicken hybrid can't leave behind, apparently.

\---

Over the last two days, the stomping and the yelling and the lights had only gotten worse, even in the daytimes. Cordelia knew the men were looking for people like her, the ones who stayed at the lodge. She hoped they didn't find them. She hoped especially they didn’t find Monterey and Brynn and Radio Man, which was and is still selfish of her. 

The only respite for Cordelia was that at least Carrah and Audrey would be ok. Those two had never smelled like anything other than human, so they would be safe. 

Cordelia was suddenly very, very glad for never clueing them in.

\---

On the third day, the men were too close. 

Someone had found a feather, someone else a snake trail much too big to be natural. Cordelia took great satisfaction in the fact the first man, and all who had touched the feather, would be dead soon. 

Still, temporary evacuation was necessary. Her human form was weak and easily restrained, at least comparatively, and greater than Cordelia’s fear was her anger at these ugly, shining monsters. 

They had killed her friends, unconscious and uncaring of their sins, and Cordelia was fucking tired of them.

\---

Cordelia opened her locket, popped the single skittle inside into her mouth. 

She reached behind her neck, to the clasp holding her necklace on. 

Then her hands slid higher, to the edges of her glasses.

First them, and then quickly the black gloves Cordelia was always known for wearing, dropped into the growing pile, along with the blankets and the stones.

Safety didn’t matter then, not surrounded by loud men and would-be murderers. Cordelia needed everything she had, for what she had planned.

It was the middle of the night, darker than usual due to the light pollution, save for the artificial shit stinging her eyes; no one but you and me would ever know about the way dripping fangs flashed in a morbid approximation of a smile.

Cordelia was going hunting.

And she wouldn't stop till the soil ran red; either with their blood, or hers.


End file.
